Jay didn't look up when Barry came in.
He never did, at first. If Barry made it home, that meant the important part of the question was already answered.
"Door," Jay grunted.
Barry nudged it shut with his boot. Hum of the workshop swallowed the Stack noise. Tools, disassembled drones, a half-gutted chest rig, wires everywhere.
He dropped his pack on the bench.
"Field 2. First window," Barry said.
Jay flicked his eyes to the repeater slate.
RUNNER: RANER, B. — FIELD 2 / ROUND 079EXTRACT: WINDOW 1SALVAGE VALUE: 19.0 NC
"Clean," Jay said. "Anything try to explode on you?"
"No," Barry said. "Had to work for my trauma this time."
He unpacked:
Meal pack.
Three protein pouches.
Two water bottles.
Med strips.
Filter masks.
Loose ammo.
Jay nodded through it, wrist already sorting into three invisible piles: house, sale, reload.
"Blue-Eye did a sweep," Barry added. "Scan pulse. Cone went straight through me."
Jay's hands paused. "And?"
"And then it twitched, like static," Barry said slowly. "Then it locked on some guy behind Lena instead. Lit him up. Ignored me."
Jay's jaw worked.
"Again," he said.
"Again?" Barry echoed.
Jay swiveled the slate so Barry could see. Logs scrolled—mostly alien glyphs, but Jay had helper-scripts.
"There," Jay said, tapping a line.
UNIT: QD-7F FIELD 2TARGETS: [HUMAN IDs: …]FLAG: [B-RANER-3] → VISUAL // OVERRIDE: NON-PRIORITY
"Means?" Barry asked.
"Means you got lit up, tagged, and then something upstream said 'nah' and bumped you down the list," Jay said. "Again."
"Could just be it didn't like the other guy more," Barry said.
"Could be," Jay agreed easily. "Could also be a corrupted handler thread that thinks you're part of the furniture."
"Is that… good?" Barry asked.
Jay looked at him over the slate. "Right now? It's a maybe. Maybe good. Maybe you get another suicide ball who disagrees."
"So your professional recommendation?" Barry said.
"Don't test it on purpose," Jay said. "Don't stand in turrets going 'notice me, senpai.' We log it. We watch."
He swept the loot into their places with quick, decisive motions.
"Fifteen to Lissa," he said. "You know that dance."
Barry watched the numbers drain again.
APPLY 15.0 NC?CONFIRMED.
MedTower feed ticked from 7 to 8.
Eight days.
The brick in his chest loosened half a millimeter.
"Leaves you with four," Jay said. "Plus house stock. You're due a minor treat."
Barry gave him a look. "Like what? Extra brick of regret-flavored protein?"
Jay snorted. Dug under the bench, brought up a small black case, popped it open.
Inside: a slim, matte band—looked like a collar's baby cousin.
"What's that?" Barry asked.
"Directional bud," Jay said. "Cheap. Hooks into your collar HUD. Better sound separation. Lets you hear footfalls, reloads, safeties, without all the city hiss. Almost an aug, but not invasive."
"Luxury," Barry said.
"Tool," Jay corrected. "Four credits."
Barry hesitated.
"That's… all of it."
"Yeah," Jay said. "And it might keep you from missing the next Riggs behind you. Or the next bomb." He shrugged. "Or we can leave it, and you can buy a round of drinks for people who don't care if you keep breathing."
Barry stared at the band.
Eight days.
One cheap edge.
"Fine," he said. "Buy the ears."
Jay's mouth twitched. "Good choice."
He tapped the slate; credits dropped. He handed Barry the band.
"Field 5," Jay said then, like changing channels. "You know it?"
Barry shook his head. "Haven't pulled that one."
"Outskirts zone," Jay said. "Overgrown blocks. Less concrete, more green. Well. 'Green.'" He gestured vaguely. "NEXUS runs it light on bots, heavier on sensor sweeps. They like plants."
"Plants," Barry repeated.
"Yeah," Jay said. "Their little war fried half the biosphere. What grew back is… useful. Some of it. They tag Rounds in Five whenever they want human idiots to go bring back samples."
Barry frowned. "So gardening."
"With teeth," Jay said. "You want long-term for your sister? Synth-tower meds are one way. Other is we start backing her with things we control."
He pulled up a file. Images: twisted herbs, pale fungus, purple-veined vines.
"This," Jay tapped one. "Shade-moss. Good binder for lungs, high on every clinic's shopping list. This one? Bitterleaf. NEX knockoff pharm uses it. This?" He flicked to a coiled plant with glassy nodules. "Don't touch. Melts people."
"You want me to go pick flowers," Barry said carefully.
"I want you to consider a run in Five when your leg's a hundred percent," Jay said. "Herbal salvage's light, high value, and we can cook some of it ourselves. Less dependent on tower rates."
Barry's gaze lingered on the images.
Field 5 meant:
Open sightlines broken by feral growth.
Less cover that he trusted.
New PvE patterns.
Probably Locals who'd gone full feral druid.
"Risk?" he asked.
"Always," Jay said. "Bots don't like people messing with marked patches. Red-eyes hang there sometimes. And the wildlife ain't all dead."
"Upside?" Barry said.
"You pull a half-decent haul of shade-moss and healthy caps," Jay said, "we sell some, keep some. Maybe push Lissa's buffer by days instead of one. Maybe I stop watching the tower feed like it's a noose."
Barry touched the new audio band, feeling its weight.
"Field 5 next rotation, then," he said. "Test the ears. Try not to get eaten by salad."
Jay almost smiled. "Attaboy."
He sobered. "You run it smart. You don't stay to sightsee. You don't trust anyone who acts like nature made them kind. And if NEXUS pings you weird again, you tell me everything."
"Even if it's boring?" Barry asked.
"Especially if it's boring," Jay said. "Boring patterns kill gods."
Barry snorted, slid off the crate, wincing only a little.
As he left the workshop, he clipped the band in place. The Stack's noise separated: vendors, drones, muttered deals, the thrum of NEXUS power overhead. Clean channels.
He liked it. He hated that he liked it.
Eight days on Lissa. One new tool. One new field full of hostile botany calling his name.
After they lost, progress came in tiny, sharp-edged increments: a better plate, a cleaner mag, a way to hear the thing trying to kill you half a second sooner.
Field 5 sounded like a bad idea.
Which, in this world, meant it might be the only good one on the table.